The Art of Rebellion
by that crazy chick
Summary: If I scream, will you hear me? If I fall, will you mend my broken body at the bottom? If I die, will you throw rue and pansy on my grave? No matter what happens, will you always call me sister? Warsaw and Vilnius. 1831
1. Every Breath I Take

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. I also don't own Warsaw (Viktoria), she is owned by Bohemian Otaku, who is still letting me borrow her even though I'm proably not going to be very nice to Warsaw here. Sorry! I do own Vilnius (Gabriella).

Okay, I lied. I said this wouldn't be up for a while... and here it is. Oh well.

In case you didn't know, this is based very loosely on the Warsaw Uprisings in the early 1830's. However, somewhere in the middle of chapter two, I start pretty much ignoring the specifics in favor of the plot, but humor me anyway and it'll be fun! And Viktoria's acting a little weird in this chapter, but there is a method to my madness (sometimes...).

**The Art of Rebellion**

**Chapter 1**

_November, 1830_

She closed her eyes, feeling the fabric of her dress against her skin- soft yet a little scratchy; clearly not the best quality but sturdy enough for work- and her long blonde hair as it fell into her face. She felt the cold winter air, frigid and stagnant, like ice in her veins, even though she was safely indoors. She pulled her thin legs out from under her, planting her toes on the floor because that was the only part that could reach as she sat on the plush futon in a house that was not her own. She put her forehead to her knees, and she felt that too. She felt it, yet she could not comprehend it.

Warsaw found herself very out of sorts nowadays. She was unable to focus on even the simplest of tasks for long, and she had taken to staring at nothing- which was odd, because the only person she knew of who ever did that was El-

_Where am I?_

Warsaw's head snapped up, frenzied emerald eyes searching the room frantically. The red velvet curtains. The fur rugs that could have only come from Siberia. The deep brown polish of the floorboards that made them glint in the sunlight. There was a window too, with real glass. And the walls were coated in paint. White paint. It was blinding to look at.

_It's big. Why is it so big? I don't remember coming here. Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?_

"God Russia, what the hell are you, like, doing? I have a constitution in case you haven't noticed!"

Warsaw jumped up a little too quickly and fell into a stumble. Her hand grazed the floor, barely keeping her balance as she managed to break into a run. Her legs gave out halfway to the door. She fell to her knees, scared, with chest and shoulders heaving.

_What's wrong with me?_

"What constitution, Poland? It means nothing. Less than nothing."

She shook her head. With a look of determination, she pushed herself onto her knees. She couldn't bring herself to walk, so she crawled to the door, using the shiny copper handle to pull herself up, still shaking like a newborn foal.

"Like, that's not what you said before! What happened? You used to just butt out of my business, now it's like you're suffocating me with all this control. I _am_ my own country, this _is _my constitution whether you like it or not, and you _can't_ do this!"

"I can, and I am."

She opened the door then and gasped at the sight, unremarkable as it was. Poland was sitting at a couch just like the one she had been on in the other room, and Russia was opposite him in a chair covered with golden brown fabric, with large armrests and an even larger back which was taller than Russia himself. There was a square wooden table between them with papers and ink wells and feather pens sprawled all over it. Poland was wearing work clothes like Warsaw, although his were a plaid orange shirt rolled up at the sleeves and brown corduroy pants, while hers was a knee-length dress made of the same material as his shirt, and she wore a white apron with pockets and a bonnet was tied around her neck. Their heavy winter coats and hats were hanging on the rack by the door.

Warsaw raced over to Poland as fast as she could. "Mama!" This time she was able to get all the way over before collapsing. She fell right into him, and he caught her trembling body. "Mama, I'm scared! What is this place? I want to go home."

Recovering from the initial shock of having a ten year old launch herself onto him, he pulled her into his lap. She buried her face into his shoulder and as he felt his shirt become slightly wet, he realized in surprise that Warsaw was crying- actually crying. Warsaw never cried. "Hey, Viktoria, it's alright. Don't cry, like, we can leave soon. I just have some stuff to finish up here. We're in Russia's house to meet with him, remember?" He spoke softly, his thumb making slow circles on her shoulder. "Like, why don't you say hello?" She stopped crying almost immediately.

Viktoria looked at Russia as if becoming aware for the first time that someone else was in the room with them. "Hello," she said blankly.

"Hello Warsaw. Why were you crying? It is not very nice to cry when you are in someone else's house, da?" Despite the words, he had a sweet smile on his face as if he was talking to a pre-school aged child instead of someone as old as she. "If you were mine, I would punish you."

Poland held Viktoria closer though she didn't seem to comprehend the danger of the situation. "Like, you touch her and bad things will happen Russia." Shifting Warsaw carefully, he began picking papers up off the table. "Clearly we're not going to agree on anything, so I gotta go. Work and stuff, you know. Call me when you're ready to negotiate."

Papers in order and then promptly stuffed into his bag, he picked up his child and started for the door. Russia made no move to stop him. When he got there, Viktoria turned the knob for him since his hands were full, and he pushed the door open with his hip. "I'd say it was nice talking to you, but that'd be a total lie." He slammed the door shut behind him. In the back of his mind Poland was partially hoping to break something by closing it so hard, but the door was of a much better quality than his own so the force did nothing.

"Mama?" Warsaw asked from his arms. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"Yeah?" He set her down in the carriage then went to the other side and hopped in himself.

She frowned, tilting her head to one side, "I don't think I like that Russia guy very much. What does he want from us Mama?"

Poland's heart skipped a beat. He was really starting to worry about her, but he wasn't going to say anything about it at the moment. He just sighed and answered, "Nothing good, sweetie. That's for sure."


	2. Up In Flames

**Disclaimer:** The usual.

So here it is, chapter 2! Partly because I've been fretting over this section so much and just decided to put myself out of my misery, and partly as an apology for not sending a letter yet to LNMPTGOML (gotta love acronyms!). I'm working on it, I promise!

And maybe also as a distraction from my (horribly cliche) guy problems. But that's a whole other story...

So anyway...

**The Art of Rebellion**

**Chapter 2**

"Operator, could you connect me to the Braginski residence? Like totes ASAP please."

"Please hold."

He sighed. "Yeah, okay." He leaned on the desk he was sitting at, tapping his fingers against the top in a rhythm. He was at the bank- the only place in town he knew of that had a public telephone. It was a busier day today than usual, he noted, as a woman brushed by him with long her long and billowing dress. He found himself smiling at the latest fashions- they were big and gaudy and altogether unnecessary, but he liked them. Too bad a farmer had no need for any of it.

Poland checked his pocket watch one last time, more out of boredom than anything else. He knew that every Wednesday at this time Ivan was at a meeting with his boss, and that's why he chose this time to call.

"Poland?"

"Liet!" He almost shouted after being dragged out of his thoughts by the sound of his friend's voice. "Like, where were you? You knew I was going to Ivan's for a meeting today, and we were planning to see each other."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I was at the market… he'd told me you weren't coming."

Poland felt just the slightest twinge of irritation, but it was ignored. There was nothing anybody could do about it now, so he just resolved to spend a good minute being mad about it later. "Eh, whatever. Next time listen to me and not him. So how are things at Russia's house? Everything okay?"

"It's been… um, how was the meeting with Ivan?"

Poland almost managed to call him out on the blatant subject change, but at the mention of Ivan he burst out, "Like, it was _awful_! That guy has absolutely no respect for me or my citizens. Okay, so I told him outright that I wanted him to knock it off with the whole subjugation thing, and you know what he did?" Poland didn't even notice that his voice was steadily gaining volume, or the odd stares the bank goers were starting to give him. He was clutching the edge of the table so hard he was starting to hear the wood creek in protest. "He said that he was going to use _me_- my people, my army!- to suppress France and Belgium's stupid little rebellions! He can't do that Liet! I have rights, and I will not be his freaking pawn!"

He slammed his fist on the table, and heard a crunch. He looked down to find a long thin crack in the wood and a noticeable dent right where his hand was. He nervously glanced behind him to see if anyone had noticed, but the people either didn't see it, or were too afraid to say anything. He spotted a directory on the desk and slid it right over the crack, but it only covered about three fourths of the damage. He whistled innocently, pretending like he didn't notice it.

"So what are you planning to do about it?"

Poland slumped in his seat, "I have no idea…" He bolted up suddenly, previous somber attitude forgotten. "By the way, like, you never answered my question. How are things at Russia's place? And how's Ella doing? Viktoria really misses her." Actually, Feliks wasn't entirely sure of that, but he was sure that she _would _miss Ella if she wasn't so listless lately. He was really worried about her, but he couldn't even figure out what the problem was.

"Well it's-"

Suddenly, he heard a click and what sounded like boots on creaky wood.

"_Toris? Who are you talking to?"_

He gasped, "M-Mr. Russia! You're home early!"

There was a static-like noise, and talking on the other end of the line. _He's been caught_, Feliks thought, over and over again. _Great, he's been caught, Viktoria's loosing it, and if I don't do something soon, Russia'll ship me off to fight France and Belgium within a fortnight. _

The static was cut off abruptly. Feliks ground his teeth together, barely suppressing the urge to hang up right then. It didn't take a genious to figure out what was comming next. He heard Russia's lilting accent come on and say sweetly, "Hello Pol'sha. I'm afraid I don't appreciate you talking to my subordinates behind my back. Don't do it again, da?" There was more talking in the background, but he couldn't make out the words since they were both speaking in Russian. "And if you do call, I can promise you that he won't answer!"

His eyes widened, "What? Like, it was my fault. Don't touch him, Ivan, or I'll… I'll…"

_Click._

"Russia?" He tried again, "Russia?" No answer. He groaned, slamming the earpiece on the receiver. He, put his head in his hands, muttering darkly under his breath. He could sense the presence of someone near him, and spun around, startling the bank teller just a foot away. His expression softened; she was one of his own people, and while he wasn't in the best of moods at the moment her presence lit something akin to patience in him. "Yeah, I know," he said, getting up. He sounded exhausted even to his own ears. "I'm leaving. Thanks for letting me use your phone and, like, I'm sorry about being so loud and all."

He offered her a hand-shake which she took, though seeming a little confused at his sudden change in demeanor. He stood and started towards the door, feeling as if the weight of the world had just piled on top of him. It was really starting to dawn on him what the Russia situation was going to mean for him, for his people, and for Warsaw.

"Have a good day, sir," the teller said.

Poland stopped in his tracks. _Have a good day._ It was just a simple pleasantry, yes, but coming from one of his people, it somehow made things a little better; like someone actually wanted his day to be a good one. He slowly turned back to her and flashed a genuine smile. "Yeah, I'll try. Someday soon, I hope."

OoOoO

(AN: And _this_ is about where I start ignoring history. So take it with a grain of salt... or like a whole ocean of salt, that works too.)

Warsaw walked aimlessly down the dark city streets at midnight. She wasn't allowed to be out so late of course, but she'd snuck out of her bedroom not long after she'd heard Feliks close the door after checking on her. That had been an hour ago, and since then she'd made it from their home almost to the center of town, which was virtually deserted. There was the occasional drunk, and more often just random people who happened to be out late at night, walking or riding carriages.

She wasn't worried about anything happening to her here. For some reason, none of her citizens had ever made moves to hurt her before. They all seemed to like her even if they didn't know why- it was as if her people knew her personally, though they'd never met. She understood. She felt the same way. She could never think of them as her children like Poland did, more like she felt a strong bond to them. As if she had a string connecting herself to each of them. It sounded silly to her when she thought of it, but she could find no other way to describe it.

But by this point she wasn't even sure why she had left in the first place, or where she was going. Viktoria had never planned on getting up and sneaking out. She had just been lying in bed, almost asleep, when she had snapped wide awake, and suddenly she _had_ to leave. There was no arguing about it, no contemplating it, no worrying about whether or not it was the right thing to do. It was involuntary. Warsaw wanted to go, but even if she hadn't, she would have anyway.

So she had, and she walked. And she walked, and she walked, until she had lost track of where she was going. However, she was headed in some definite direction, that was for sure- she just didn't know where. She was starting to wonder what the purpose of all this was. She felt weak and exhausted, stumbling often and having to stop and lean against a building till her dizziness passed. Whatever it was she was looking for, Viktoria hoped she would find it soon.

She heard a commotion coming from up the road- the center of town. Her breath caught in her throat. Warsaw ran towards it as fast as she could, nearly falling several times along the way. She smelled smoke, the beginnings of a bonfire, and heard yelling. When she reached the sight, she had to take a moment to stop and stare.

There were men, hundreds of them and their huge wagon, and they were bustling to and fro, wielding pitchforks and guns, shouting at people who were not around to hear them. It was a scene of chaos. And the target of their wrath: the town armory. It had been lit on fire, and had started to become engulfed in flames. It began to blaze, the fire spreading upwards at a pace Warsaw didn't think was possible. The smoke curled up towards the sky, and the flames gave off an ethereal glow in the dark.

_They're setting me on fire…,_ was her first thought. Then, _No, they're setting the armory on fire so Russia can't use the weapons there against them._ This was no random act of violence, her people were finally standing up and fighting against Russia's control. It was a show of open defiance against him. It was anger, it was rage, it was the Poles refusing to lie down and be good while their own friends and family were sent off to die in a battle that was not theirs- that they did not even want!

It was the most beautiful thing Viktoria had ever seen.

She clutched her chest, feeling the burning spread. It hurt, but she didn't care. She was beyond caring. And in that moment something changed in her. She was no longer having to struggle to stay upright, no longer feeling confused and unfocused as she had been lately. She ran to the fire, her bare feet hitting the cobblestone in a fast, steady rhythm. She was within feet of it, reaching out to it and getting as close as she dared, and then closer. It was life, it was death, it was hopes and dreams and reality in the flame. It was defiance, sweet defiance.

And she knew what she had to do.

She snatched a rifle from the men's wagon and held it above her head. They didn't stop her, but they ceased their own cries and didn't throw any more wood on the fire. They just looked at her, surrounded by light, which made her look absolutely angelic in a white nightgown with the rising heat lifting her blonde hair up like a halo. "People of Poland! We have been subjugated too long. We've, like, tried to play nice with Russia in the past, and what has that gotten us? They tear us apart, ignore our totes amazing constitution, and now they want to force us to sacrifice our own and to do their dirty work for them?"

There were shouts of agreement from the crowd. It was growing now, as more and more citizens came out to see what was going on. What had started as just over two hundred men was now well over one thousand people. And she had their attention. "_**No**_! Not anymore! We won't let them do this to us. We've gotta stand up and take back the rights we have as people. We are _not_ Russian, we are _Polish_, and they need to get out and _stay out_! And if they won't we'll make 'em! We will fight, and we will win!" She fired a shot into the sky. "For Poland!"

There was a mass uproar, "_For Poland_!" They yelled back.

She felt it burn, and she was glad.

Feliks watched from the back of the crowd, a small smile on his face. He had never been so proud of his daughter.

"_For Poland!_"

And so it began.


	3. Building Bridges

**Disclaimer:** The usual.

Eh, I don't like this chapter much. It's kind of boring, but it's necessary. So just bear with me here, people.

Not much to say here except to keep in mind that this story takes place pre- Bloody Sunday, so Russia still has some level of sanity left. And historical notes are at the end.

And now…

**The Art of Rebellion**

**Chapter 3**

_February, 1831_

_Russia's house_

It was nearly nine o'clock on a chilly February morning when the postman came to the door. Vilnius had been up for hours beforehand, cleaning and cooking and doing laundry. There was much more to do these past two weeks since Toris had been sent to St Petersburg for supplies. The supplies had already been delivered to wherever Russia wanted them sent, but Toris himself was not supposed to be back until the next night.

The postman's knock rang throughout the whole house.

"Moscow, could you get that?" Ella called. She was balanced precariously on the top of a high, ornate china-cabinet, standing on her toes to reach the ceiling. It was a nightmarish tangle of cobwebs in the corners, and obviously no one had cleaned there in a while.

Moscow (also known as Nicholas) appeared in the doorway like a ghost, ice-blue eyes looking up at her sullenly. "Don't be lazy," he scolded in a mock-motherly tone. She sent him a less-than-amused glare. With a dramatic sigh and roll of his eyes, he pushed himself off the doorframe, and came over to the cabinet. "I'll hold it steady, just get down already. You can get back to this later."

"Yeah, alright." She took her hand off the ceiling, her only real support, and began to carefully lower herself to jump off. "Did you get to that firewood Russia wanted you to chop?"

"No," he replied bluntly and without a touch of remorse. Of course not. He never did the work he was assigned. He'd always expected Ella to do it- probably because she always _did _do it. She feared she would be blamed for it anyway if it didn't get done.

It was one of the many reasons she and Moscow were perpetually at each others' throats.

The postman knocked again. Ella jumped, startled, and nearly fell. She managed to catch herself on the edge of the cabinet then carefully leap down, and landed crouched like a cat on all fours. She sprung up. With a small sigh, she scurried to the door, wiping dust off of her clothes and fixing her hair at the same time. If Russia saw her looking this disheveled in front of a guest, he would not be happy.

"Hey, slow down; Sidorov can wait." Nicholas laughed, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest. "He's just a serf. (1)" He said 'serf' in the way one would say 'scum,' as if there was no difference between the two.

"I don't like to keep anyone waiting, serf or not. And if you weren't so unhelpful and incompetent with work, I wouldn't have to rush around the house all the time." She replied harshly.

He scoffed. "Workaholic!"

"Lazy!"

"Weak!"

"_Russian_!"

He just stared, confused, and then realized that it was meant to be an insult. "Hey!"

She swung open the door. Nicholas instantly shut up and disappeared into the shadows.

The postman smiled at her as he handed over the usual stack of mail. "Good morning Miss Lorinaitis."

_Well, here it goes. _"Good morning Mister Sidorov, I hope you are doing well this afternoon." She gestured for him to come in, but he shook his head. "Any news from town? I hear Mrs. Lebedev has come down with the fever, the poor soul. Will she be alright?" Everything she said was worded carefully and politely. Of course Ella was usually polite, but this was different. It was a well rehearsed routine. The type of routine expected of the servant of one of the highest ranking political figures in the Russian Empire. And by this time she had learned it well. Some might say a little too well.

"If the Good Lord wills it, I expect she'll be in perfect condition before spring, unlike the late Mr. Lebedev was last month," he replied. At the mention of the deceased, they both crossed themselves out of respect. (2) "But there is not much else to report. The folks in town have all been asking about you though. They say it's a darn shame you have to keep holed up in here all the time. We all miss you, you know."

She smiled sadly, "Give them my sincere apologies. (3) Master Braginski has been working so hard lately and there is much to be done around the estate as well. I simply don't have the time, or any real reason, to travel so far into town."

The man studied her for a moment as if trying to catch the real meaning behind her words. He could find none. "I understand, and they will too I suppose," he made a vague gesture to their surroundings. "Well there's been a bit of a cold snap lately, and I suspect you all are in need of some firewood, da? This is the last house on my stop- if you'd like, I could chop up some wood."

"Oh, no thank you. I can manage it on my own."

He raised an eyebrow. "Master Braginski has a young girl out chopping trees?"

Ella suddenly realized her mistake, and she struggled for a response. "N-no, that's not what I meant!" She quickly ran through excuses in her head; anything to keep the man from thinking ill of Ivan must be done. "I meant to say that we do have plenty of firewood at the moment. And no, of course I was not the one to fell the trees. Dear Nicholas does that." She smiled sweetly for good measure, but it felt fake.

"Aye, alright Miss. The Braginskis are a fine family, and it seems they have done both you and Toris well."

"They have, and I am ever so grateful to them for it." Considering the circumstances, it nearly made her ill to have to say that with so much sincerity.

He nodded and tipped his hat to her. "I'd best be going then." But even after a few moments he didn't make any moves to leave. Instead, he stood there on the steps, looking conflicted. Just as she was about to ask if something was wrong, he put his large, leathery hands on her shoulders, leaned in and whispered, "There's news from Poland as well. You've heard about the rebellions there." It was a statement, not a question, but she didn't respond. She wasn't supposed to know about them. "They've sent in soldiers, but they're growing worse anyway. Some fear that they may spread into the territory of the Russian Empire formerly known as Lithuania." That conflicted expression he had worn returned, but just for a split second. Then he smiled, adding, "But fear not, Miss, for I'm sure we shall crush all who oppose us, very, very soon." He pointed to the mail he had delivered. "There's urgent information on the subject that's to go to Master Braginski in that delivery. Apparently he has a lot of authority when it comes to international relations, especially concerning those good-for-nothing Polacks."

It was supposed to be good news. She was supposed to be happy that Russia was expected to win should this escalate any further- and that even now plans were in motion to deal swiftly and harshly with the offenders who had started this whole thing to begin with. Ella didn't have the heart to hold it against him, though. Sidorov was a good man, and had she been just a young Russian servant like most people believed, then she probably would have been elated to hear this. As it was though, she couldn't force herself to fake happiness over the planned destruction of the people she loved so dearly. It was all she could do to appear indifferent.

He leaned away, regaining his previous composure. Ella looked at him- more like through him- expression giving away nothing. If he had been expecting to get a reaction out of her, he would be sorely disappointed. "Thank you so much for your delivery Mister Sidorov, and have a nice day."

He pulled the strap of his mail satchel further up on his shoulder. "Aye, and you as well." Ella must have imagined it, but she could have sworn that Sidorov looked almost... disappointed. But there was nothing she could do about it.

That was what she missed most living with Russia: having opinions.

Ella shut the door, leaning her back against it for a brief moment. With that, she tapped her nails against the wood then moved away, looked in both directions to make sure Ivan and Nicholas were nowhere in sight, and turned down the hall. After checking again for signs that she might be followed, she walked into the hall closet and shut the door almost all the way, so just a sliver of light came through.

What Sidorov had said to her was of no surprise. She had been intercepting mail about the uprisings for weeks, trying to keep as much information away from Russia as possible. "I know you're strong, sister," she whispered as she opened the letter with shaking hands. "But you don't stand a chance against Russia, especially not on your own. I have to do something." And she would be infinitely more helpful to the cause in just one more day… She honestly wasn't even sure if she could last that long though.

She read over the letter several times. It was nothing new: just explaining the situation, expressing that Ivan's assistance and guidance in the matter was needed urgently, and assuring him that any action against Poland he deemed necessary would be carried out immediately.

At that moment, she heard Russia's footsteps from the other end of the hallway. She searched for a spot to hide the letter, and had to settle for shoving it down the front of her dress. She made sure the rest of the mail was accounted for, and had just finished getting rid of the evidence of what she had done, when the closet door swung open.

"Little Vilnius, I thought I heard something coming from the closet. What are you doing in here?"

"Nothing, sir. I was just making sure that the closet was up to your standards of cleanliness." She handed him the mail. "Your mail, Master Braginski. The postman just left."

He took the letters, flipping through them absently. Ella tried to keep one arm around her midsection inconspicuously so the letter wouldn't fall. It was at times like this when she wished she was a bit more… well-developed. "I hope everything is to your satisfaction," she said.

"Mm, da. You are very responsible, just like your father-" He put his hand on the top of her head as he was frequently known to do to Latvia. He added cheerily, "And you're much more obedient too. I like that." He stopped abruptly. Russia pulled away slowly, saying, a bit shocked, "Your dress…"

Vilnius forgot how to breathe for a moment. "Yes?"

With a look of disapproval Russia pointed to her right sleeve. "It's ripped." He shook his head. "That is not good- you are my servant, not a street urchin, and I refuse to have you going around looking like one. Fix it."

It must have happened while she was cleaning earlier. She barely hid her relief at not being caught, "Yes sir. I will do so immediately… well, right after I finish my chores."

"Good." He turned on his heel, and started down the hall. Ella watched him, refusing to budge an inch until he was far away. About halfway, he added over his shoulder, "Oh, and Vilnius? Please return those papers about the uprisings you are hiding in your dress. My boss informed me that he would be sending them last week, and I need them. We will talk later about why it is not nice to go through and steal other people's mail."

She blinked, stunned. "Y-yes sir…"

She let out a long sigh as soon as he was out of earshot. She closed her eyes, breathing in the silence. The letter hit the ground with a light thud.

_One day… Just one more day. _

The words echoed in her head, reverberating like guitar strings. She could almost imagine sending the message to Warsaw, just by concentrating enough._ You're not alone. Just one more day. _She let the thought go like a bird. It twisted and dove, and she watched it with eyes still closed tight as it faded into thin air. As it carried her words to the person who needed them most.

If anyone would hear her, it was Warsaw. And even if the message was lost, that was alright too. All she needed was one more day.

**oOo**

1. At this point in history, believe it or not, Russia was still using serfdom (a serf being a common peasant). You know, the system with the lords and vassals and such- like you'd see in medieval England in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There were some differences between that system and the one used in Russia, but the basic idea was the same. Western Europe looked down on them as being backwards and barbaric, until the Russian Tsar, Peter the Great (ah, Peter, you and your midgets!), came along and Westernized Russia. Russia gave up their medieval system in 1865.

2. To cross yourself simply means to use the sign of the cross. It was- and still is- used by churches in Eastern Europe (according to my research), but most Protestant denominations of Christianity in the West no longer use it. It is, however, still used in Catholic churches everywhere because we never change anything!

3. Russia is several times referred to as Master. This is the title used to refer to a young single male. Or at least, it was in Dickens's David Copperfield, so I doubt it would still apply in Russia, but whatever. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Historical Note for the last chapter:

For one thing, at the beginning of the Warsaw uprisings, the people _did_ attack the armory- on November 29, 1830 to be exact. And the catalyst for it _was_ because Russia was planning to send their army to suppress rebellions in France and Belgium. But nothing was set on fire to my knowledge… that scene was mostly just me wanting to set something on fire. :) Chalk it up to creative liberties.


	4. Starlit Humanity

Again, not much to say. The disclaimer is at the end this time.

**The Art of Rebellion**

**Chapter 4**

Hooves clipped slowly on the dirt road. The horses in front were barely visible silhouettes, with heads nodding in unison and the reigns loosening and tightening slightly with each movement.

"Are we there yet?"

"Nope."

A pause.

"How 'bout now?"

Poland turned around to raise an eyebrow at his daughter. "Like, don't make me turn this buckboard around." Warsaw pouted then fell back, sprawling out on her back in the bed of the buckboard. She looked up at the night sky, with stars that glittered and twinkled like diamonds. She noted, rather begrudgingly, that the stars looked no less beautiful in Russia than they did in Poland.

"I see the big dipper and the little dipper…" She sat up, crossing her arms over the back of Poland's seat, unable to sit still. She watched the horses for a moment before seeing the sky again which was spread out above them like a blanket. It was so vast she need not even look directly up to see the stars in this position. "And Leo, and Gemini, and Ella and…" She did a double take. "Ella?" She stood, squinting out onto the road. "Mama, that's Ella, right up there!" Viktoria pointed to the little figure coming towards them.

"What? No way, it can't be." He pulled on the reigns, and the horses came to a stop with several loud neighs.

When they stopped, the little figure did too. They couldn't tell, but she was frozen with fear that these people she could only barely see might turn her in if they found out who she was. She had a deer-in-the-headlights expression as she slowly took several steps back. Her heart was pumping fast and hard, and her limbs felt electrified. _Run on three. One…Two…Th-_

"Ella?" Warsaw called out. "Is that you?"

That voice… it was so familiar. It was- "Viktoria!"

She ran towards them, relief flooding through her. Viktoria jumped down from the buckboard as well. Ella threw her arms around her sister as soon as she was close enough, and the sudden collision caused them both to topple over. They just laughed and sat up, still hugging tightly. After not seeing each other in years, they were both afraid the other one would disappear if they let go.

"I missed you."

"Like, I totes missed you too. You have no idea."

They pulled away at the same time and spent a moment just staring to see how much they'd changed since they'd last met.

Poland was by their sides within seconds, and hugged them both tight. "Hey, what are you doing out here- at night, on a dirt road? Were things that bad at Russia's? And where's Liet?"

Ella blinked several times, rubbing her eyes. "Oh, um…" Still holding onto Viktoria's hand, she leaned her head on Feliks's shoulder. "Papa went to St. Petersburg, but he's supposed to be back tonight. We were planning to leave Russia's house, and he told me to meet him in the woods. B-but I just couldn't stay any longer, so I've been walking down this road since dusk to meet him since this is where he'll be coming from."

Poland considered this new piece of information for a long moment. "So if I just keep following this road, we'll run into him?"

She nodded.

He gave a decisive shrug, "Okay then. That, like, works." Besides, maybe Toris would have more information on what was going on within the Russian Empire. "Let's get going."

The three of them stood, and Feliks followed the two cities around back to help them up. Before he'd even managed to climb in himself, Ella was curled up, fast asleep. Viktoria just watched her breathing slow and even out. She turned back to her Mama as the horses started back up into a trot. "Mama…I-I'm not scared or anything of course. Ya know, of Russia. But is…" she looked down, biting her lip, "are we going to be okay?"

There was blatant childish-worry in her voice, and Poland wasn't sure whether he found it cute or he felt sorry for the little girl. Probably both. His biggest regret regarding Warsaw was that she could never be normal because she would always be a target. Whenever people wanted to go after Poland, who better to attack than his capitol, no matter how young she was. He regretted that even though she was strong, she had to take abuse that no child should ever have to endure. "Like, sweetie, we'll be just fine. I promise. And it's okay to be scared you know."

She shook her head, "Nu-uh. When you and Papa were together and you fought the Teutonic Knights- back when Ella and I were little- you were really brave! You never backed down." Her green eyes lit up at the memory, shining in the moonlight, and Poland smiled. But then her tone turned a bit more serious as she said, "And I want to be just like you, Mama."

"Like, I love you for being you, kid." He turned around to plant a kiss on his daughter's forehead. "And no matter what happens, just remember that."

"I will," she whispered earnestly. "Hey, Mama, I've been meaning to ask you. How… how was I born? I mean, I know all the kids in town have parents- but their Mamas are girls. So then how did you ever have me?"

Feliks's eyebrows knit together. "I never told you?" She just looked at him blankly. "Guess not. Okay, well, uh, I really don't know how you were born exactly. I was just walking in the rye fields one day, and I saw this adorable little three-year-old just standing there in the middle of the field. And I was just like, 'hey, I think that's Warsaw.' So I went up to you, and, like, asked you your name. You said you didn't know, but you called me Mama Poland, so that was kind of a giveaway. Then I picked you up, and took you into town. And you said, 'This is my home.'

"Well just to make sure, I asked you which house was your home- which one did your family live in- and you just repeated that this was your home. And I asked you if your name was Warsaw. You nodded and hugged me, giggling like I'd just guessed the punch-line of a joke or something. And that was that."

"That's it?"

Poland laughed. "Like, yep. Except, like, it took me forever to come up with a good human name for you. And when I finally did, of course I named you-"

"Viktoria," she finished.

"Nope. Ponyta."

"No you didn't!" She insisted, expression bright with amusement.

"I did actually. But then Liet convinced me not to, so I changed your name to Viktoria."

Viktoria sat back on her heels."Oh." Glancing in the direction of her sister she asked. "What about Ella? How'd she meet Papa?"

"According to Liet, she was living with a pack of wolves when he found her by the river one day." Seeing her blatant disbelief, he held up his hands in surrender, "Hey, if you don't believe it, take it up with Toris!"

At that moment, they heard the sound of fabric rustling and quiet little whimpers. Ella was shaking, mumbling something inaudible, but Viktoria could have sworn she heard the word 'attack' mixed in with all the nonsense. She reached out to touch her shoulder. "Hey, Ella, are you-"

Vilnius bolted upright, breathing heavily as if she'd just run a marathon. She looked around for a moment as if not quite sure where she was before setting her gaze on Warsaw. She stared at nothing. And stared. And suddenly burst out laughing. "I-it's tonight!" She said through her laughter, arms wrapped around her midsection.

"Uh, what's tonight?"

It took Ella at least a minute, and several tries, but eventually she managed to choke out, "R-Russia… he's a-attacking me… tonight!"

"_What?_" Warsaw and Poland yelled it at the same moment, which they may have found comical at any other time. The carriage stopped abruptly, causing all its passengers to be pitched forward and have to catch themselves on the seat- or in Poland's case, with his foot on the little wooden threshold in front of him.

"I didn't… d-didn't think he'd do it this soon but…" She started to laugh even harder, "He is going to be… absolutely _furious_! They're stomping over the borders right now."

"Like, I don't see anything funny about this." Warsaw deadpanned.

Vilnius just ignored her, trying to control herself. "They're trying to act all stoic and official, I can see it. I wish I could be there when they find out…" Seeing Poland and Warsaw's confused and worried expressions, Vilnius took a deep breath before she could degenerate into hysterics again. "Russia is going to attack me. He's currently attacking actually. But his army doesn't know about what Papa did. All their supplies are horribly defective, and everyone knows they're coming anyway. So they're showing up on my land, toting guns that don't work, and explosives that won't detonate- or if they do, they're more likely to kill themselves than anyone else- _and_ the entire town is waiting for them already! Russia is going to absolutely kill Papa and me, but after living with him, I don't really care what he thinks anymore."

Poland and Warsaw looked at her, then each other, and back again. Then they started laughing as well.

"Man, like, I would _so_ not want to have to be the guy to tell Russia what happened!" Feliks said.

Ella winced. "You're not kidding. When the gardener informed him that his lawn had a mole infestation, Russia fired him and deported him to Siberia."

"Excessive much?"

"Taip."

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat. "Um, excuse me? Feliks... is that you?"

Poland spun around and looked down. There, standing by the buckboard and a few feet away from another one which was currently driver-less, was Lithuania. He squealed. "Liiiieeett!" He jumped off the buckboard and right into the arms of the Lithuanian, completely catching him off-guard. Toris staggered slightly at the sudden new weight, but quickly righted himself as Poland threw his arms around his neck.

He smiled, "I missed you too, Po."

Poland played with a strand of his friend's hair. "Now the gang's all here," he said, gesturing to the kids.

"Ella?" Toris asked. "What are you doing here? I told you to wait for me in the woods by the house."

She nodded guiltily, "Yes. But I just really couldn't take any more of him. And it was good timing anyway."

"True," he conceded, already knowing what she meant. "I just hope they got the warning soon enough. At least the non-defective supplies made it there in plenty of time."

Poland pouted, poking Lithuania in the cheek, "Like, why do I totally get the feeling like I'm missing something huge here?" Toris and Ella exchanged glances. He carefully lifted Poland up and set him in the buckboard. "Now that's a bit more complicated." He climbed in. "Let's stay here a little while so I can explain..."

"Good. 'Cause you have a lot of explaining to do."

**OoOoOo**

**Disclaimer:** Regarding the characters, the usual. The part about how Feliks found Viktoria mostly belongs to Bohemian Otaku, but I added some stuff too. The sentense-worth of info about Toris and Ella is of my own creation, except for the obvious reference to legend.

Also, pretty much anything history-related in this chapter is completely made up.

May the force be with you,

that crazy chick


End file.
